Chapter Thirty-Four: Help
Men. They were supposed to be her specialty, her confidence. During her time at Hogwarts, she had never stood out as a
particularly skilled or powerful witch, but she learned early on that she had other talents. As a former Slytherin, she
was quite clever and cunning, and used her good looks and charm to get what she wanted. Pluck a man the right way, and
a girl could play him like a Cecilio violin.
But that confidence with the opposite sex abated her now. She had questioned herself for the first time in years when Ron seemed to shrug her off. She did not know how to handle it, and perhaps that chase was what attracted her to him so very much now?
But that was another matter altogether. At the moment, she was afraid. Ron was away, and that left her alone with none other than Harry. Harry. James. Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived.
He was not what she had expected, not even close. The Daily Prophet, apart from exhalting him as the world's savior, had all too often portrayed him as some cocky braggart, a renegade, a loose cannon aloof with Albus Dumbledore's fanciful ploys. But what Ginger was staring at now...
It only compounded her nerves to stare at him so blatantly, but she could not pull her eyes away. He was an anomaly, one that demanded her undivided attention. He was both terrifying and awe inspiring at once. He was sitting, unmoving within a chair of her little room. His focus was drawn towards a blank wall, with that same blank look worn upon his face. Stoic. Empty. Yet full of a raw power that should any invite it, they would know no greater ire.
There was a certain intensity radiating out from his calm facade. His magic was wafting off of him in simmering waves. The slightest break of his concentration, Ginger felt, he'd lose it all and kill them both. There was something deep and profound roiling just beneath his surface, and from the stories she'd heard thus far, she had a sneaking suspicion that she had a front row seat to something big playing out.
"So... you and Ron?" Ginger could not take the silence any longer, the words coming out involuntarily. "He - he tells me you have been friends for..." The look in Harry's eyes as they turned to her, as if she'd asked the stupidest question in the world, shut her right up. Full of angst, Ginger abruptly stood and began to pace.
"So, you and Ron?" Harry unexpectedly turned the same question upon her.
"Huh?" he caught her off guard, her mind currently scattered and wandering in a hundred different directions.
"You two, you're... you like each other then?" it was not hostile or accusatory, coming off as simply curious - the words near juvenile.
"Oh," Ginger felt her heart pound in her chest. Harry... Harry - Bloody - Potter was having a casual conversation with her? Madness.
"Yes... No! I mean... we've..." Ginger stammered along, not sure what the answer to that was. 'What, we've had sex together?!' she kicked herself. What was she even doing here? She never felt more out of place - out of her league, and these were supposed to be just teenagers.
She was as nervous and jittery as a scared child about to get on their first roller coaster. "I - he's... different," she answered foolishly. But it was the truth. "He has that silly, boyish charm about him..." she seemed surprised to find herself saying this out loud, and to Harry Potter no less!
She felt lighter with the admission though, almost giggling as she spoke. "Yeah," she finished with a light hearted laugh. "You could say I like that goofy red head," she offered Harry a coy smile.
"Ron's a good guy, one of the best," Harry implied, "and my best mate." Ginger got the idea.
"H-Harry..." his name felt strange on her tongue. It was odd enough to be alone in his presence, but then talking with him like this...
"It's alright," Harry quirked a little smile at her, feeling the need to ease the tension. He had seen how Ron had felt about her when he was in his head, and Ron was still...
"Says a lot that you came here, told us what had happened. Besides, if you were to hurt Ron... I'm not sure if you've had the pleasure of meeting Ginny yet?" Harry raised his brows comically at her. He felt odd himself. This was the first casual conversation he'd had in months... ever since Hermione. But with the weight of everything, it felt... good?
"I have," Ginger smiled ignominiously. "She's..."
"A handful!" Harry finished for her, carrying on as he was. "She's got a box full of nasty hexes, so I'd try staying on her good side if I were you," Harry joked with her. Ginger reddened and laughed at this, easing up a bit. Harry Potter was... teasing her?
"Enough about my love life, or lack thereof," Ginger found herself relaxing some. "So what about the great Harry Potter? This Hermione..." she stopped at Harry's reaction to this. His faint smile evaporated before she had finished the girl's name, his strained intensity coming back to the forefront. Awkward silence ensued.
"So, this signature... what is it?" she tried changing the subject. Harry offered her nothing, sealing himself back in his shell. She fidgeted from the sudden about face. "Well, whatever it is, Ron will get it," she felt the need to reassure him.
"Have you met Percy?" Harry spouted sardonically.
"Ron said he owed you two..."
Harry simply shrugged at this. "It's not exactly Percy's thing... breaking the rules."
"Well... he is the Assistant Undersecretary. If Ron says-" Ginger abruptly stopped as Harry stood.
"What is it?!" Ginger asked with alarm. Harry no sooner turned to face the door, than the red head in question came charging in.
Ron pulled up short, readjusting himself to Harry's overwhelming presence. It was taking some getting used to.
"Well?" Harry asked with urgency.
"He wasn't happy about it," Ron admitted. "But I persuaded him," Ron held his wand up, gripping it tight in his fist. "Said he'd need some time. We're supposed to meet him here at nightfall."
. . . .
To kill the nerve wrecking wait, Harry kept himself busy. He headed back into Hogwarts, and though the other two weren't exactly invited, he did not forbid them from accompanying him either. They started in the Library, inspecting the area in which Hermione had first been attacked, though there were no clues to be found.
They paid a visit to Argus Filch. The old grouch was quite put off by the encounter, as to be expected, but his fould anger soon turned to shock at being confronted by none other than the missing Harry Potter himself.
He did not give anything willingly, but as Harry delved into his mind, the caretaker knew nothing of any disturbances within the castle two nights ago, nor of any other since the conclusion of the war, and his meticulous records confirmed as much. Harry was forced to Obliviate their worthless little meeting from Filch's memory, having gained nothing.
It was a long, long wait. Drawing ever closer to that final hour, they still had time for one last trail to follow up. The three made their way to Hermione's dorm. Ron knew the password.
"I've got nothing," Ginger came back in from Hermione's bedroom. The boys had left it to her to inspect her more personal space and items. Harry found himself standing at the window, eyes closed, taking deep, calming breaths. He felt himself coming apart at the seams.
This was not like Hermione. Something happened - something bad - and it was all his fault. He'd done everything he could think of to spare her this fate, cutting himself off from her, from everyone - he'd done everything but be there when she needed him most...
"Ron?" Ginger went on. "Have you found something?" This got Harry's attention.
"No, it's just..." he did not finish as he stood over an open book at her desk. Harry came up behind him and turned the cover.
Ghosts, Ghouls, and the Haunt, by Matilda Shortham. Appropriate reading material considering the season, perhaps.
"Come on," Harry said. "Bring the book. It's almost time."
. . . .
He was already waiting for them in Ginger's room upon their arrival, but... it was not Percy Weasley awaiting.
"Good evening," Hans Krieg greeted the three pleasantly enough. "Please, shut the door," he gestured. Ginger looked half-a-mind to bolt, but upon Ron's nod, she closed them in with this stranger she did not know.
"What are you doing here?" Harry accused.
"I should ask you the same thing," Krieg fired right back. "Mundungus Fletcher..." he spared any coy games, revealing his knowledge on the matter, "is not on our list."
"What list?" Ron felt the need to butt in, looking between the two.
"This is a personal matter!" Harry seethed, taking a threatening step towards Krieg. The Professor did not miss it.
"Harry..." Krieg implored, speaking calmly. "I am your friend. I am here to help you."
"Where's Percy!" Harry did not relax.
"I do not believe it is Percy whom you're looking for."
Harry paused, considering his next move. Ron and Ginger glanced nervously between the two wizards, but before anything more was said, Krieg reached into his heavy cloak and produced a small vial, containing a swirling, glowing gaseous liquid within.
"Give it to me!" Harry demanded at once. It was not a question.
"I don't suppose you will tell me what it is you want with Mr. Fletcher?"
"No," Harry said bluntly.
"Do you intend to kill him?" The harsh and blunt question struck a blow at Ron and Ginger, causing each to flinch, but Harry was unmoved.
"He has information I need," Harry rasped.
"You did not answer my question," Krieg pushed him. There was a long, pained silence.
"Mundungus's fate lies in his own hands," Harry gave the only answer that he was willing to give. He did not intend any such insanity, but at this point, there would be nothing left standing in his way.
"You are treading dangerously, Harry. What is this? Attempting to involve others, especially the junior Weasley at the Ministry, could have had dire consequences. There are very few who have any understanding of your current situation, or of what is at stake," Krieg warned.
"This, 'Go at it alone' attitude will only play into your enemies' hands. You can trust me, Harry. And if I am to assist you in this, I must be able to trust you."
Harry grimaced, balling his hands into fists, but he was only wasting time he did not have. He nodded.
"Can I trust you, Harry?"
Harry felt himself slump. The weight of it all was immense. "They... they have her," it came out faint, as if he were sick to admit it.
The "they," was still for the most part, an unknown, but Krieg did not have to ask who "she" was.
"Well then," Krieg tossed him the vial. "You'd better go and get her."
. . . .
They were monsters. Cruel and sadistic in every meanings of the words. Hermione lay prostrate at the center of the broad floor. Stands for an absent audience rose around her in a circle in every direction. She could not move. She would have thought she were paralyzed, were in not for the pain shooting through every inch of her body, from her toes to her finger tips. Each breath felt like sharp daggers gouging into her lungs. All she could smell or taste was the copper tone of blood.
The two's laughs reverberated about the hard room like a pack of wild hyenas, splitting her head open even wider. They were insane, and their barbarity knew no bounds. How had she let this happen?She was too smart for this. It was supposed to be over... but here she was, delivered into the hands of the worst of the worst. As she had been tortured by the misses beforse, so now she was tortured by the mister.
Lestrange delighted in unleashing every foul spell he knew upon her. Rookwood kept her conscious and awake so that it may live on.
She heard a door high above open. At once, the sounds of hideous moaning and groaning filled the room, and she was positive it was not her own, but she could not garner the strength to lift her head to be sure.
"She is to be kept alive, you fools!" she heard the raspy, high pitched voice of the girl cut down upon them. Further moaning and the shuffling of many footsteps falling down the steps. Lestrange and Rookwood fell back in fear, horror struck across their faces. To frighten these two so, whatever was coming for her now had to be bad.
"You'll have your vengeance soon enough, but not before the boy arrives!" she screeched at them. There was no argument. She saw tripping, rotten legs of men circling around her, coming for the two Death Eaters. Her brain was not functioning properly to understand it.
She saw the flash of several spells, only further confusing her.A double-cross?It wasn't until the bodies hit the floor, and the girl began her squawking laugh once again did she comprehend. What was left of her senses panicked. She felt that rush of adrenaline, but there wasn't enough left to aid her. The faces of those dropping... Inferi! The dead encircled her.
Lestrange and Rookwood retreated, casting curses of magic and damnation alike as they went. Soon, Hermione was left at the center of the deathly mob, they restrained from tearing her limb from limb only by their mistress.
"Tssk, tssk," the girl approached her, lifting Hermione by her magic. Hermione cried aloud from the pain of it. There was no telling how many broken bones she had. "There now," the girl stroked her hand across Hermione's face, clearing the blood from her eyes. "I'm not going to hurt you, not yet anyways!" she laughed that terrible laugh once again, as if she were the most clever person on Earth.
"What..." it was agony to speak, but Hermione forced it. "What do you w-want with H-Harry?"
"Haha! Stupid girl!" the girl's amused look turned to that of spite. "I think you should be worrying about yourself right now," she warned with malice. Hermione found it too difficult to speak on. No matter, just then, the door above opened once again and another came rushing down.
"Carmilla!" she heard another deep and rough voice call aloud. "My dearest Carmilla!" a man rushed into view. He was... not unlike the girl. His hair deadened and wiry, his skin creased and hanging from his skeletal frame. His eyes sullen and dark. He looked an inch from death.
"No, no!" he wailed. "This body does not suit you!" he embraced her. "Servant!" he shouted angrily, his bellicose causing Hermione to flinch. With a loud crack, an old and bent house elf appeared. "Bring us one of the slaves, one fitting of my dear Carmilla!" he ordered without ever looking to the elf.
"Yes, Master," the tired elf bowed low to the floor, and just like that, he was gone again.
"Oh, Carmilla!" he despaired over her small form, pulling her to his chest. "He should have never sent you alone after him, I have been so very troubled in your absence! After the Orient, to think you may have had to face him alone!"
"I am fine my love," she hugged him back. "He cannot hurt me." The two clung to one another in an unseemly embrace, for one so old, and the other so apparently young.
"You have brought this one here..?" he seemed to realize Hermione's presence for the first time. "But why?!"
"If we cannot find him, we must have him find us," she hissed while glaring down upon the bent Hermione.
"Antioch will not be pleased. When they notice her absence, if any were to come, to discover us..." he now spoke with a certain apprehension.
"You need not worry, my love. I have seen to everything. The boy does not take solace in any other. He will come alone."
"Master," the two were distracted as the elf returned. Hermione was just barely able to lift her swollen lids enough to see what was happening.
"Excellent, servant!" the wizard was pleased as the elf brought forth a terrified and shivering, yet beautiful woman. The young, wrinkled girl started cackling once more as she approached her. What happened next... It was like some unbelievable nightmare. She needed to wake up.
The girl's jaws stretched open wide, unnaturally so, like a yawning beast's intent upon swallowing her prey whole, and with the loud sucking and swirling of air, a pillar of dark mist erupted from the girl's spread jowls, and attacked the poor woman like a horde of angry locust.
The woman's mouth was forced open and like the transfer of an evil soul, the blackness consumed her. Her pale, soft skin began to harden and wrinkle right before Hermione's eyes. Her flowing blonde hair turned to brown, and then a wiry black and gray. And her sparkling blue eyes... they lost all sign of life, falling into a deep, pitted, glossy black. The young girl's body fell limp to the floor, dead. The woman began to laugh that hideous laugh of the girl's with utter delight as she held out and examined her new hands and feet.
"My Carmilla," the man embraced this new woman.
"My Cadmus!" she pulled him to her.
. . . .
A/N: Sorry for the delay. Can't say I am very pleased with this chapter, and took some time to mull it over. As I grow closer to the end, it seems to be getting harder and harder. I've seemed to have lost most of the followers, so any feedback on where I have gone awry would be appreciated. For those still hear, thank you, and just the same, would love to hear what you think.